Where Do The Old People Go?

I have this obsession with old people.

I totally glorify them.

Maybe it has to do with the fact that my Grandma was super cool. Bad ass. Crazy. Loving. Sweet. Brilliant. Compassionate. Honest. Too honest. Gentle.  Blunt and ruthless. Hysterical. And perfect.

And I want to be like her.

I just love them, old people.

I see them as unlocked treasure chests of jewels...much like the ones buried beneath oceans in pirate movies. I just don't quite understand why more people today aren't searching for them. Old people, that is.

At least in my culture, the tendency is to put them away. Keep them away. We don't have time anymore to take care of them. We don't have patience anymore to help them. We don't have wisdom anymore to learn from them. Why is that? Is it our culture? Is it our economy that doesn't give us the time? Is it our natural human behaviour- have we evolved and developed into this?

I don't have any grandparents anymore. Not ones by blood.
I didn't get the chance to know my father's father or my mother's mother.
I dream about them, though.
And I totally glorify them.

My mother's mother is brilliant and funny and plays tricks with me as we sit on sidewalk stoops in Queens. I'm just a kid and I believe every single thing she tells me and she laughs at my innocence in a kind way.

My father's father is patient. He gives me a pencil and a paper and lets me work at my own pace and style. He just watches. I feel safe and accepted and I remember this feeling. It helps me to create.

I don't have any grandparents, by blood, anymore. So I borrow other people's. Usually, without asking for permission. However, I always return them.

We're talking about old people, people! Don't you get it? They have lived a life much longer than ours. They have made more mistakes. Experienced more adventures, or were too afraid too. They know the lifestyle of our ancestors and the way things were before we invented things that made us forget to ask them. Don't you get it? Everything we need to know, they already do!
And we're losing it.

And they're old! And carefree. They don't have to worry anymore about what people think of them. Kinda like how we started as kids. When did that change? Wouldn't it be nice to live that way again? Care-Free. Not careless. Care-free. Worrying keeps us from being here today, and doesn't change what tomorrow will look like. Don't you want to feel free again? Like when we ran around the playground as kids.

Last week I spent five hours with my neighbours. My Costa Rican grandparents.

Grandma was teaching me how to make tamales. I was fascinated by the wrinkles in her face and I longed to know the stories that formed each one of her perfectly constructed lines. I discovered a few,  as she laughed tying the tamales with 2 of her daughters. I learned through the wrinkles that her family was her joy. I ask myself, what is my joy? Have I connected with it today?

Grandpa was siting on a chair nearby, shirtless. His belly was a sign that he loved sharing food and his eyes lit up when he talked about Christmas. Dec 8 and Dec 24 were always two of his favourite days, and the whole month, in general, makes up some of his happiest days. His mother used to always make him tamales on Dec 8 and 24, and somedays in between, and all the family would get together and share.

He invited me to sit with him and share some coffee.

He tells me how he has been married for over 60 years. "Mi amor," he calls to Grandma. Always, mi amor. He tells me how he loves to dance. And play soccer. He tells me how he got sick and how Grandma, too, got sick and how some things changed. But still, "mi amor".

{The treasure chest is beginning to open and I am in the land of the pirates}

He tells me the history of this community, when it was just 4 houses with unlocked doors.
Now, every house has a fence.

"Orgullo," {pride} has changed everything.

"Not in my house." He tells me. His face becomes stern and ruthless, like that of my Grandmas, and in that instant I love him.

He does not believe in pride. He gets on the bus and he glances over his shoulder, scoping out the woman next to him. He re-enacts this glance for me and I cannot help but smile in sweet admiration and quiet obsession with his uninhibited realness. His total surrender to the moment.

"You can't talk to people anymore," he tells me. "Not if they have a car and you don't. Not if they have a fancy job and you don't."

I get on the bus and I scope out the woman next to me. I see if she's gonna talk. And I ask her where she is going. I learn about her life a little bit. People are interesting, you know? We find something in common. And we laugh a bit. And before she gets off I invite her to come by the house and eat sometime. Better to come around Christmas, that's when the tamales are best.

Grandpa likes to share.
And I like that.

{So much not-sharing these days. Do you notice that?
I remember learning to share in kindergarten; I do. I remember being excited. I was like, "Wow, if I give that kid my play-dough he will smile!" And it worked! And I loved that.

Not so much today. My clothes. My seat on the train. My career advancement. My kid's test scores.
I, too, suffer from a case of the My's.
Everything is competition.
Climbing on top of one another.
Proving how we are better.

To who?

For what?}

Grandpa reminds me of the things I like to remember.

And just as the conversation has gotten historical and a bit heavy. Sentimental and a bit nostalgic. Ruthless and a bit blunt...

He offers me a shot of Rum.

And I accept. Because who wouldn't have a shot of run with a shirtless old-guy at 11am on a Thursday while making tamales?

And If I died in that moment, I could say I died alive.

I want to experience life. I want to be there for these moments. I want to know everyday that I am awake and living.
I have seen too much numbness in my life.
I have lived too many days asleep.

I believe this is what life is really about and everything else that we have created that doesn't allow us to have moments like these is a false reality that we, as humanity, have all begun to follow and accept as the truth.

These moments, sharing stories and food and connecting with people so much older and more wrinkley, wise and carefree, these are moments worth living. At least for me.

Because in that moment I was given my whole life back. I mean, don't know where it went. I just know that sometimes when I'm writing the papers or figuring out how to pay my school debt, I lose it. I lose myself and I lose my life a bit because I forget what it means to be alive.

And in that moment with Grandpa and Grandma making tamales, I remember.

I remember that there is always time for each other. I remember that I want to love my children just like Grandpa and Grandma do. I remember that I want to have a community where we don't need fences to keep others out and keep ourselves in. I remember that I want to make my food with my hands and love the experience of it.

Listening to Grandpa talk open and honestly about his relationship with Grandma, makes me remember that honesty is pure and liberating. Watching him sit there with his belly out and eating with his hand reminds me that being real is beautiful. Not caring what others think is so refreshing.

Sharing a shot at lunch with Grandpa reminds me not to take life so seriously. To be carefree.
Because it helps you to love a little bit more.
Smile a bit more.
Share a bit more.

And we need more of that in this world, don't you think?

Grandma is tying the tamales diligently. Her daughters are picking on each other and laughing. Grandma's granddaughter has my camera and is documenting it all. And they let me be a part of it. And I am so very grateful.

I am making tamales on a Thursday afternoon. I am supposed to be working.
That's what the system requires of me. That's what I have been led to believe.
Sometimes, I like to hit the "pause" button on what I have learned. And think for myself for a minute.

Grandma and Grandpa invited me to make tamales with them today. Do I have time for that? Do I have time for people, for my neighbours? And if the answer is No, then what kind of world do we live in? To not have time for our neighbours. For each other.